Ring Around the Rosie
by ladybalin
Summary: A terrible disease is killing Sebaceans, and the only cure lies on Earth.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Ring Around the Rosie  
Author: ladybalin  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even close.  
Setting: Four cycles after the Peacekeeper Wars

Betas: Thanks to miniglik, without whom this fic would not have been written, and my husband for insisting that I cut lines that make no sense no matter how much I love them.

Author's Note: This is a multi-part fic that's still a work in progress. I hope to keep the pace up in getting chapters written, but you know how life goes. Feedback is like candy.

**Ring Around the Rosie**

_**Chapter 1**_

John flicked his wrist and watched as the ball bounced off the floor into Moya's bulkhead and then back to his waiting hand. Wedging his back more firmly against the wall in one of her endless corridors and tucking his knees up, he threw the ball again. Bounce. Bounce. Catch. Again.

_"We found a cure, John," Scorpius informed him._

_"Well, whoop-dee-frelling-do, break out the parade," John deadpanned, sure there was a catch._

Bounce. Two more arns until he, Aeryn, and their son left for the Command Carrier. Two more until everyone he cared about was at the mercy of the Peacekeepers, and he just had to hope they were playing fair this time around.

_"We need more humans. We need Earth." _

_Of all the planets, in all the solar systems, Scorpy had to need his. "Ennh. Wrong. That route's closed. Find. Another. Way." He'd locked the door himself and thrown away the key._

Bounce. And there it was – because of some alien abductions several thousand years ago, humans were now the closest genetic cousins to the people who had alternately captured, tortured, and frelled him in every sense of the word. Part of him, the dark part that John didn't like to think about, wanted to enjoy the fall of the Peacekeeper regime, but the price was too high.

"_You did not think that the wormhole you destroyed was the only one, did you John?" Scorpius asked calmly._

_"No." John could feel his voice shaking. "I won't help you. Your pilots can turn to goo on their own time."_

_"Ah. No, John. We don't need you for navigation. Our prowlers and Command Carriers cannot travel through wormholes, it is true. But, as you yourself have found, nothing prevents Leviathans from doing so." The riddle didn't need to be answered when you could just walk around the Sphinx. _

Catch. John wondered sometimes if there were any real choices in life or just a series of coin tosses that always ended badly. Earth – the circle had closed for the last time. His life before and his life after were slowly colliding and the only choice left was to try and mediate the destruction. He always was a fan of lost causes.Somewhere, John was sure that God - or the Fates, or whoever was actually running this show - was laughing at him.

"_So what then?" John asked resignedly. "You're just going to take over Earth?"_

"_We could … but it would be difficult without our Command Carriers. A prolonged military campaign is disadvantageous for everyone. Diplomacy offers the swifter path."_

The Peacekeepers were going to Earth and John had the unenviable task of making them all play nice. He'd been a scientist, an astronaut, a tech, a criminal, a pawn, and a bargaining chip - and now he was supposed to be a diplomat. At least he'd pass the language requirement. John laughed to himself and buried his head in his folded arms.

He supposed that he should just be thankful that the Peacekeepers were going through the motions of asking politely. He threw the ball again. Hard.

* * *

Pictures weren't the same as reality. In pictures, you couldn't see the contortions of a child's face while he struggled to breathe. You couldn't smell the salty tang of sweat and tears of a little girl tossing in her bed or taste the stale air that surrounded the rows of med bay beds. And you couldn't tell the difference between a child that was sleeping and one that had succumbed to the Living Death.

John shuddered. Scorpius had shown him images of the children weekens earlier, but it didn't compare to standing in the med bay of the Command Carrier, helpless to save the hundreds of children dying in front of him. He sought Aeryn's hand. She gripped his back tightly enough to make his bones creak. He didn't let go. "Is she …?" He didn't want to know the answer. He didn't want to see this.

The med tech bent over the girl's body and briskly examined her. "Yes," the tech confirmed. "The body will be terminated and disposed of."

She looked only four-cycles-old, the same age as D'Argo. And now she was just a body - living, breathing flesh without a soul.

"And this happens to all of them?" John knew the answers; Scorpius had told him. But the reality was different.

"Most. A small fraction recover. Perhaps 10. But their motor and brain functions are permanently impaired and they appear to be sterile." The tech shrugged dispassionately. "Cooling rooms alleviate the symptoms of the heat delirium, but the virus is quite robust."

"You're _sure_ … you're absolutely _sure_ that Sebacean hybrids aren't affected?" Aeryn's voice broke.

"None that we've found so far," the med tech said with the exact same tone Earth doctors used when hedging their bets. "Of course, there aren't many Sebacean hybrids out there; the Purity Laws ensure that. But over a quarter of the Sebacean children have fallen ill and not a single one of the hybrids. The virus is very specific; no adults over 16 cycles have gotten sick either. There's a 99 confidence interval on the data." The tech delicately pricked the girl's wrist with a needle from his pocket. "There," he murmured.

Listening to the med tech, John decided, was just like being back in college with his stat mech professor droning on about enthalpy. He swallowed uncomfortably. "So you might be wrong? There's a chance you're wrong?"

The tech looked at him with some irritation. "It's statistically unlikely."

"And that would be very comforting if we had one hundred shots at this, but we only get to spin the wheel once," John snapped back.

The tech blinked at him, unimpressed by the outburst. Behind him, the girl's breathing slowed and then stopped with one last gurgling sigh.

John closed his eyes, but he was unable to wipe the image of the small, still body from his mind. "Fine. Tell me about the cure."

"Sample 118 successfully eradicated the virus in one child. It alleviated the symptoms temporarily in another three. Other hybrid combinations had no effect. With a wider variety of samples, we should be able to track down the necessary compatibility factors."

One child saved – John had had second, third, and fourth thoughts about providing Scorpius with the initial sample of D'Argo's blood, but at least it wasn't entirely in vain. "So we know two things: hybrid children are not affected by this virus?" The tech hesitated, but eventually nodded. "And only human-Sebacean blood can cure it?" Again the tech nodded. John met Aeryn's eyes. They never did have a choice.

"I have work to do." The tech pushed a button on the girl's bed which opened a cavity up in the wall. The bed tilted upwards, and the body slid headfirst into the recess. The trap closed with a clang.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

John didn't know what the crew on the Command Carrier had been told. Half of them ignored him. The other half acted obsequious in person – but he was sure that it wasn't by mistake that their quarters were right next to the waste-processing facility. And then there were the few wide-eyed recruits who seemed to think that he was on the verge of blowing something up – not that he could promise he wouldn't. John found it difficult to care one way or another – these weren't the people he had to make deals with. They'd been on board for three days already, with another three to go before the wormhole opened up again, and no one was telling him anything.

Out of sheer desperation and boredom, he'd taken to parading around the Carrier with his son perched on his shoulders. D'Argo, being D'Argo, chattered constantly, which entertained John, entertained D'Argo, and annoyed the dren out of all the Peacekeepers. Currently, they were haunting the mess hall where D'Argo was playing his favorite game of "What's that?"

"What's that?" D'Argo pointed imperiously at the top of an officer's head, who was sitting one of the tables.

John nearly choked in laughter. Apparently even weird alien technology still had not solved the problem of balding – and the comb-over was as popular as ever. "Man and his eternal fight with defollification." John was pretty sure that "defollification" wasn't a word, but no one spoke English here anyway. And D'Argo liked asking questions more than listening to the answers.

"What's that?" His son pointed to the same officer's shoulder.

"A stain, kid. Her Majesty's Navy just ain't what it used to be."

The officer turned to glare at John. He grinned back.

"What's that?" D'Argo's attention had already shifted across the room.

Peering off in that direction, John spotted a familiar face. "That, son, is a dear old friend. Now be sure and ask him lots of questions."

"Okay. What's that?"

"A table," John answered absentmindedly, as he made his way to his new target.

"Braca!" John slapped the man's back enthusiastically and slid into the seat next to him. He picked D'Argo off his shoulders and swung him into his lap.

Braca swallowed what he had been chewing and edged slightly away.

"What's that?" D'Argo pointed at Braca's plate.

"Slop. Take my advice and never eat in a cafeteria, if you can help it," John answered. "So Braca, you're along for this cruise too?"

"Yes," Braca answered cautiously and began eating again, clearly hoping that John would go away.

"Are you a soldier?" D'Argo grabbed Braca's spoon and began tapping it on the table.

Braca straightened up a bit. "I'm a Peacekeeper Captain in the Velkar Regiment, Commander of the Selenium."

"That means yes," John whispered to his son.

"My mom was a soldier," D'Argo informed him. "But she left 'cause she liked my dad better."

Braca choked slightly at this somewhat revisionist history. He raised his eyebrows incredulously at John.

D'Argo pounded out a tattoo of his own design on the table, causing Braca to wince and the rest of the mess hall occupants to turn and stare. "I'm teaching him to be in a rock band," John brightly explained.

"Are you married?" D'Argo asked.

"Peacekeepers don't get married," Braca said stiffly.

"What about her?" D'Argo pointed at the female Peacekeeper sharing Braca's table.

Braca, to John's delight, blushed.

The woman, who was tall, blond, and well-endowed looked startled to be pointed out by a kid. "So you're John Crichton?" she asked.

"Yup." John swiveled slightly to face her.

"And you're … human," she continued doubtfully.

"Red-blooded American, right down to the bone," John said cheerfully.

"I'm a herbid," D'Argo piped up.

"Hybrid," John corrected him.

The woman looked slightly disappointed … or disturbed; John really wasn't sure which. "You _look_ Sebacean," she protested.

"Humans and Sebaceans are very similar," Braca said in conciliatory manner. As D'Argo enthusiastically slammed the spoon down on the table, he added, "Physically."

"What's that?" D'Argo pointed to a blue symbol sewn to the shoulder of the woman's uniform.

"A duty marker," the woman replied bemusedly. She was staring at D'Argo fixatedly, as if she'd never seen a child before.

"I see lots," D'Argo said, peering around the mess hall. "Dad, how come there are all the girl soldiers?"

Startled, John looked around to find that his son had noted the obvious; there were many more female Peacekeepers in the mess hall than normal. And they all had the same abstract blue symbol attached to their uniforms.

"I think that they're here for the mission too," John said. He silently marveled at Peacekeeper Machiavellian pragmatism. "Are you on birthing cycle duty?" John asked the woman curiously.

She shifted uncomfortably. "It's an honor and a privilege to be chosen," she intoned. "Normally." She glanced uneasily again at D'Argo.

"Say, what's your name?" John stuck out his hand.

"Officer Peri." She took his hand hesitantly.

John shook it firmly. "Pleased to meet you." He couldn't quite conceive of a culture where women were essentially ordered to reproduce on command. "How many of you are there?"

Officer Peri looked over at Braca who shrugged in permission. "A thousand, I believe. With more scheduled to come in if necessary."

John laughed a little. "Say, Braca, who's running this shindig, anyway?"

Braca's lips tightened a little. "Vice Chancellor Grayza." Then his whole body tensed. "Her," he whispered.

Conversations around the mess hall slowly died off. John turned around. Grayza had entered, her stomach flat once more as the v-cut robes generously revealed. Looking around the room, she smiled - the kind of smile that caused John's stomach to do a slow roll to the left.

"Dad, I don't like her," D'Argo whispered. He tugged on John's face to get his attention.

"You've got good instincts, D," John whispered back.

"Yes," John heard Braca say from behind him.

All of his nightmares in one pot, John thought. The Devil was definitely at the helm.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

Aeryn stepped hesitantly into the Pilot's Den. Aside from Moya and Talyn, this was the first Leviathan she'd been on since leaving the Peacekeepers. Being back on a collared ship was stirring up some uncomfortable memories. The sound of the boots in the halls, the cordoned off sections of the ship, the constant salutes, all served to remind her of times she'd sooner forget. Killing Moya's first Pilot was one of the worst, but none of her duties on collared Leviathans were pleasant to dwell on.

John had wanted to come with her, but talking to this Leviathan's Pilot was something she had to do alone. "Pilot?" Aeryn called out cautiously.

Unlike the rest of the ship, which had been packed with as many Peacekeepers and Prowlers as possible, the Pilot's Den was deserted. The door swung shut behind her, cutting her off from the bustle outside. The air was slightly cooler here and vaguely musty. Aeryn shivered; it felt like a tomb. She walked across the narrow bridge and listened to her steps echo in the cavern.

Reaching the console, she saw that the Pilot's eyes were closed. Thinking better of her decision, she turned to leave.

"Peeeeacekeeper," the voice hissed out from behind her.

Aeryn's heart pounding, she whirled and pulled her pulse pistol. Over the muzzle of the gun, she saw the Pilot's eyes staring malevolently at her. She slowly lowered the weapon and re-holstered it. "I'm not a Peacekeeper anymore."

"You look like a Peacekeeper," the Pilot said. He clacked one of his claws menacingly.

"No," she replied firmly. Aeryn found herself wishing that she'd thought to change out of her customary leathers. "No more. For eight cycles now, I've lived on a Leviathan – her name is Moya."

The Pilot narrowed his eyes. "Many Peacekeepers stay here. None live here."

"My name is Aeryn Sun. Moya is my home along with my husband and child. She is free, uncollared." Aeryn resisted the urge to back up. She remembered Pilot's terrible anger when he had discovered her old crimes and had no wish to repeat that scene.

A look of confusion ghosted across the Pilot's face – the first emotion other than anger. Then his face hardened again. "You lie."

Aeryn stood directly in front of the Pilot and did not blink – Pilot had told her once that his kind didn't trust those who evaded eye contact. "Moya's Pilot told me that as a youngling he dreamed of nothing but the stars. He wished only to travel, to see other worlds. He got his wish, but Moya was collared by the Peacekeepers and used as a prison ship. He and Moya were trapped, chained to a small patrol area within Peacekeeper territories and condemned to house only those who had no wish to be there. Eight cycles ago, the prisoners freed themselves and Moya. I have lived there ever since." She took a breath and waited.

The Pilot's face slowly softened as he tilted his head first to one side and then the other, weighing her words. "Uriel and I have been under Peacekeeper control for one hundred cycles."

"I'm sorry, Pilot." Aeryn reached out impulsively to touch one of his claws.

The Pilot flinched violently at the contact and Aeryn winced backwards. The Pilot, suspicious once more, glared at her. Silently regretting her lapse, she turned to leave.

As she moved to open the doors to the Den, she heard, "Not-a-Peacekeeper, wait."

Biting her lip in relief, Aeryn turned around.

"I … have been alone for many cycles. And Peacekeeper visits are generally … unpleasant," the Pilot explained.

Aeryn knew what "unpleasant" meant. She had witnessed it all too often. Ruthlessly, she stifled the old, dark memories - dwelling on them would do no good now.

"Why have you come, not-a-Peacekeeper?"

The Pilot still did not trust her, but Aeryn could not blame him. She considered her words carefully. "The place we are going is very far away; it can only be reached by a wormhole."

The Pilot grimaced. "The wormhole, yes."

"You have been through it before?" Aeryn wondered how long the Peacekeepers had known about the wormhole – and how long they had had time to prepare.

"This will be my third trip. I do not like it. The path looks straight, but it is not. Uriel senses other directions, other ways to go …" The Pilot drifted off into his own musings.

Aeryn felt a twinge of panic. John had described the Unrealized Realities to her and she did not wish to be caught in one. "Pilot, it is very important that Uriel _stays on the path_. Swerving off of it would be extremely dangerous – for everyone."

The Pilot got that faraway look that Aeryn associated with when Pilot conferred with Moya. "Uriel will follow the signal from the other side and not allow himself to be distracted."

"Thank you." Aeryn allowed herself to relax slightly. "Signal?" The Peacekeepers must have left someone on the other side of the wormhole to guide the ships through – it's what she would have done.

"One Leviathan always stays on the far end of the wormhole. Once the base is finished, this won't be necessary."

A base, Aeryn thought to herself, from which the Peacekeepers could surely launch an attack on Earth. John was right; the wormhole would have to be closed. "Moya's Pilot is able to see the wormhole just before it opens – like a bubble," Aeryn offered. "Do you see that as well?"

His eyes flashing, the Pilot broke into a string of untranslateable jibberish from his own language. Finally regaining control, he burst out, "Nothing! I see nothing. With Uriel collared, I am nearly blind. The Peacekeepers control everything."

Disappointment flooded her. Even if they were able to remove the collar, without knowing that Uriel's Pilot could see the wormhole, without being sure of the timing – they would have to find another way. "Never mind, Pilot."

"You say that you are not a Peacekeeper … and yet you travel with them," the Pilot asked curiously.

"It is necessary for the time being." Aeryn didn't feel up to the task of explaining the whys and hows when she wasn't even sure of them herself.

"Uriel has been collared for a very long time," the Pilot said suggestively.

Aeryn shook her head. "If it were possible …"

The Pilot's face tightened. "I see," he said, withdrawing.

"I am sorry, Pilot. I am so very sorry," Aeryn pleaded with him to understand.

"Apologies are meaningless, not-a-Peacekeeper," the Pilot sniffed.

Sick at heart, sick of the entire impossible situation, Aeryn said simply, "I know," and quietly left.

* * *

John was becoming increasingly frustrated with being kept in the dark. After being rebuffed by anyone with an ounce of authority, he determined to track down Scorpius. Unfortunately, Scorpius was quite adept at evasion, and though John had heard tell of him on the Command Carrier, he had yet to actually find him. Finally, on the Leviathan, John resorted to full-on spy mode. Though his methods, he had to privately admit to himself, probably bore more resemblance to the time in 7th grade that he'd spent following Cindy Larter around than James Bond's.

Spotting Scorpius entering the Neural Cluster, John smiled and slipped in after him. At this point, he felt more than a bit like a stalker. "Yo, Scorp!" John strode up behind him.

"Quickly, John, close the door. We only have a short amount of time before someone comes looking for me." Scorpius gestured impatiently at him.

Raising an eyebrow, John complied. "I hate it when you play hard to get. Spill – what's with the cat and mouse games?" he asked irritably.

Scorpius just _looked_ at him. John was reminded that however many moves he'd planned ahead, Scorpius was always at least one beyond that. "Signals from the comms should be dampened in here. I can't afford to be found speaking with you."

"Ha," John snorted. "Now _that's_ ironic."

"Convincing the High Council to include you on this mission required great personal effort on my part." Scorpius clasped his hands behind his back.

"I'm touched, really." John rolled his eyes.

Ignoring the interjection, Scorpius continued, "Grayza doesn't trust me. She suspects my motives."

"I can't _imagine_ why," John replied drily.

"You are here at my request, but it must not seem that we are working together. Grayza will attempt to marginalize you, but you must remain diligent about following the negotiations."

"Terrific. And you'll be doing what? Picking flowers?" Considering that John was the one who had tracked Scorpius down in the first place, it occurred to him that he wasn't getting to do much of the talking.

"You must _listen_, John," Scorpius said urgently. "Grayza will be watching both of us. Do not try to contact me directly. Additionally, while High Council believes that this mission is secret and that the true depths of the affliction have been successfully concealed, I am not so … complacent."

"Enough with the political intrigue." John was sick and tired of being manipulated. "Just tell me what the game plan is."

Scorpius stiffened and looked towards the door. "Someone is coming. You must hide. Once on Earth, we will speak more in private. Talk to your father."

Stepping very close to Scorpius, John fiercely whispered, "I'm not your pawn. Either tell me now or don't bother." He paused. "And stay away from my family," he added.

"We have the same goals, John, and we will be better able to achieve them working together. Do not disregard my words because you dislike the source. Remember Grayza," Scorpius growled as he pushed John into one of the alcoves.

John's lips tightened as he remembered that there were bigger sharks out there than Scorpius. He allowed himself to be herded into hiding.

"Ah, Lieutenant," John heard Scorpius greet the unseen Peacekeeper. "No, I must have been mistaken about the Nexus coils. Did you find those data chips? Excellent. Shall we?"

Once the sound of boots had retreated, John stepped cautiously out of the alcove. Why, he wondered, couldn't things ever be easy?

* * *

Aeryn found John sitting near one of the many viewports along Uriel's treblin side. He was tucked up in the alcove against the window and staring pensively out at the stars. D'Argo was curled up on the floor with John's coat serving as a makeshift pillow. Aeryn took off her own coat and covered her son. She sat down in the alcove with her back against the wall opposite of John.

Not turning his head, John answered her unspoken question, "He conked out an arn ago."

Considering that it was the middle of their current night cycle, Aeryn wasn't surprised. "Did you find Scorpius?"

In answer, John reached for her hand and tugged her towards him. "Come here." Complying, Aeryn spun around and nestled her back against his chest. Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, "We're being watched." Then out loud, he said, "No, no sign of him."

"I see," Aeryn spoke in a normal voice. Turning her head, she found his ear. "Comms?" she whispered.

"Mmmhmm." John kissed his way up her neck. Twisting his head towards the viewport, he said, "Wormhole's opening."

Looking out, Aeryn saw the all too familiar blue swirling funnel appear in the darkness.

"And down the rabbit hole," John said as Uriel swung towards it.

"Home," Aeryn replied.

Shaking his head, John sighed, "Earth isn't home anymore. It hasn't been for a very long time."

Resting her head back, Aeryn squeezed John's hand tightly and braced herself for the trip into the blue.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

_May 15, 2008_

The sound of the explosion sent a shockwave through the floor of the basement passageway. Jack lurched to a nearby doorway. Across the hall, Jack watched as a crack started in the wall plaster at the floor and worked its way upwards. He hated to think of what the repair bill would come to – and that wall had just been re-plastered. As soon as the vibrations stopped, Jack started running towards the most likely source for the explosion.

Smoke billowed out of the open doors to the engineering bay as Jack entered, but it quickly dissipated. The fire crew, which was always on hand these days, had gotten there first. Jack peered through the haze for Richard Smee, the senior engineer. He spotted him standing over the twisted metal wreckage of what Jack assumed to be their latest attempt at a hetch drive.

"Any injuries?" Jack asked as he strode up.

Richard rubbed his forehead, leaving a streak of soot. "Cuts, bruises, a few first degree burns. Nothing serious, thank God." He spared an absent glance for Jack before he returned to contemplating the disaster.

Jack breathed in relief. "We can't keep doing this, Rich."

"I know … but we're so close. It should have worked this time," Richard replied in frustration.

"But it didn't," Jack said firmly. "Again. We've managed to keep this out of the media so far, but IASA funding is not unlimited."

"Without a working model to study and technology that we're only beginning to understand … well, what do they expect?" Richard burst in frustration. "Forgive me, Jack, but if your son hadn't cut us off from the rest of the universe …"

Jack clenched his jaw. "John did what he had to do." He knew that John had done what he felt was necessary, but too much had gone unsaid. Time – there should have been more of it. More time to talk, to laugh, to learn, to reconnect. The old grief of losing his son for the second time threatened to overwhelm him. The loose ends of their relationship, of whatever had happened to John out there to change him so, still worried away at his nerves late at night.

"Look, Jack, I know that he's your son. But he breezed in here and dumped centuries worth of technology and new science on us and then vanished without leaving us anything tangible to study. And that's not without mentioning the trip on Moya that was supposed to happen …" Richard drifted off as he noticed Jack's face flushing in anger. "I'm sorry; I'm frustrated. We're all frustrated. Let me sort things out with the rest of the team, and I'll have my report for you tomorrow."

Jack managed a brief nod of acknowledgment as Richard walked off to join the rest of the engineers. For the last four years, the world had been reeling from the revelations that John had brought back to Earth. He had single-handedly catapulted whole new fields forward, centuries beyond current scientific knowledge. It was all Jack could do to try and guide the course. He had only ever wanted to be an astronaut; John should have been here, working with him.

The buzz of Jack's cellphone distracted him from his thoughts. He hoped that the Senate hadn't heard about the latest disaster yet.

"Jack?" That was Rodney, their signal processing expert. "I think that you should come up and see this. Well, listen to this. Well …"

"I get it," Jack interrupted. "I'll be there shortly."

Stepping into Rodney's office was a little like navigating a mine field – teetering piles of papers and books threatened to topple on him with the slightest accidental contact. "Rodney?"

A hand appeared around the stack of overdue library books and beckoned. "Come here."

Jack squeezed into the alcove containing Rodney's desk and computer. Rodney was hunched over his network of oscilloscopes and laptops. "Well?" Jack asked.

"I picked this up a week ago. At first, I thought that it was just a blip, but then …" Rodney started narrating.

Jack could feel a growing tension headache and rubbed his temples. "Rodney, please just skip to the important part, will you?"

"Rough day?" Rodney peered up at him through unkempt bangs.

"The hetch drive exploded," Jack said by way of explanation.

"Again?" Rodney asked.

Jack grimaced in response. "Tell me about the signal."

Rodney flipped several switches. "Listen," he instructed.

"More … supplies … coming … three ships … due …" The signal dissolved into static.

Jack looked at Rodney quizzically. "Now that's not a language that I know … at least not a human one," Rodney said.

Jack winced – he tended to forget that the translator microbes rendered foreign language lessons pointless. It had definitely been a long day, and he had a feeling that it was about to get longer. "Play it again."

This time around, Jack focused on the sounds. A dreadful feeling crept over him as he recognized the language.

"Do you know it? Because I sure don't," Rodney said.

"We need to get a linguist in here to be sure, but yes, I know it," Jack replied slowly. "I think that it's Sebacean."

Rodney spun around to look at Jack. "Officer Aeryn Sun, right?"

"Her people ..." Jack shook his head. The wormhole was supposed to be closed.

"So what does it mean?"

"If you can, track down more of the signal and clean it up. I need to call the Pentagon."

* * *

_One week later_

Jack hurried down the hallway in the Pentagon. At least his security clearances hadn't been revoked yet. "General O'Neill, a word please," he called out.

The big, bluff looking man turned. His hair had long since gone gray, but Jack still remembered him as a pudgy red-head. "Jack," O'Neill nodded. "I don't have much time; I'm on my way to a meeting."

"Take the time, Paul." Jack deliberately used the General's first name, reminding him of their shared past.

"What is this about?" O'Neill asked warily. From the way he avoided eye contact, Jack couldn't imagine that he didn't know.

"Rodney told me that his computer was confiscated – right after I reported the signal he picked up."

"There are regular channels …" O'Neill began.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Jack snapped. "I tried the regular channels, and I kept getting the run-around. What's going on?"

"It's classified."

Jack tilted his head in disbelief. "I'm the Director of Extraterrestrial Studies – don't bullshit me."

"Jack," O'Neill warned, shaking his head. "This is a military matter."

"Since when? It's the Peacekeepers, isn't it? Has there been contact?" Jack demanded. O'Neill's silence only served to fuel Jack's suspicions. "Paul, what's the point of having an Extraterrestrial Studies program if you don't keep us in the loop when aliens show up?"

"It was decided to shift our energies elsewhere. We're going in a different direction," O'Neill admitted.

Jack's stomach began to drop. "Are you canceling the program?"

"No … but there are concerns about the leadership," O'Neill said slowly.

"You're pushing me out," Jack said incredulously. "I don't believe it. We get our second alien contact in four years and you're pushing me out."

"We appreciate everything that you've done for this country, Jack. But you're getting older …"

Disgustedly, Jack replied, "Oh don't give me that. We went to school together. You're just as old as I am. I have a few years left yet."

O'Neill shrugged uncomfortably.

"Forced retirement, is it?" Jack shook his head. There were more important things to worry about. "At least tell me what's going on. You owe me that much."

Looking around, O'Neill admitted, "The Peacekeepers contacted us. They're sending a delegation."

Jack nodded in acknowledgment. "That's good, right? We're opening up contact?" O'Neill looked hesitant. "Don't tell me that you believe that Alien Investigation crap," Jack continued when O'Neill didn't say anything.

"We're taking all necessary precautions," O'Neill temporized.

Earth's relations with the Peacekeepers were not Jack's primary concern right now. "What about John? Is he with them?"

"Look, I've told you too much already." O'Neill shook his head.

"He's my son, Paul," Jack pleaded.

Shaking his head apologetically, O'Neill placed his hand on Jack's shoulder. After a moment, O'Neill moved on while Jack watched dejectedly. If John was back, no force on Earth was going to keep Jack away from him. No matter what the military or IASA command thought, Jack wasn't going to let them shut him out. He'd worked too hard and too long for that. Jack wasn't going to go down easily.

* * *

The transport pod alit gently on the military airfield. John wasn't even sure where they were – somewhere on the Eastern seaboard judging from the brief view he'd gotten from the sky. Grayza and her honor guard of five sat like statues along one side of the pod. John, Aeryn, and D'Argo huddled against the other. Grayza had wanted to permit only John to come along, but he had no intention of leaving potential hostages on Uriel.

Earth knew they were coming, but John didn't know how much they had been told – he hadn't been included in the talks. Someone had directed them to this unknown base, no doubt with stipulations on numbers and arms.

Grayza stood up and strode over to the window. From his vantage point, John could see several rows of Army uniforms – and not a whole lot of suits. On the one hand he was happy that Earth was paranoid enough to not trust Grayza – on the other hand this whole situation was a powder keg waiting to blow.

"Vice Chancellor?" the head of her guard, a dour looking man, asked.

Jerking her head towards John, she replied, "Send him."

Whispering to Aeryn to wait here, John stood up. Imperiously, Grayza gestured towards the pod doors. Feeling like a sacrificial goat, John obeyed.

The doors opened with a familiar hiss. "My name is John Crichton," he called out. "I'm exiting the pod now. I'd appreciate it if y'all didn't shoot me."

Stepping out cautiously, he resisted the urge to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender. The full light of the sun fell upon his face and John felt the familiar tension he always had when he went planet-side these days. As his eyes adjusted, he watched the ranks of soldiers part to reveal a gray-haired official. John thought that he was one of the ones who had accepted the translator microbes last time, which was probably a good sign. John stepped down to meet him.

"Mr. Crichton," the man said, offering his hand in a typically limp-wristed politician shake. "I'm George Riley, Special Advisor to the President."

John, taking Riley's hand, deliberately didn't squeeze harder than necessary. Now was not the time to prove who was top dog. "Pleased to meet you." Finally, Mama Crichton's training was paying off – not that she'd ever covered this situation. He could have used a lesson or three on how to convince someone to not kill him.

"You're back." Riley paused. "With company."

John wondered if there was a politician on Earth capable of just asking a straight question – there certainly weren't any willing to give straight answers. "Yes, and said company is going to get trigger-happy if you don't back the muscle off."

Riley raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Those are dangerous words."

John gritted his teeth. "Look, I'm merely pointing out that unless you want this nice base to have several holes blown in it, cool it with the Jets routine. I'll control the Sharks."

"I was under the impression that Vice Chancellor Grayza was the head of this delegation," Riley suggested mildly.

"She is," John agreed. He didn't know how to explain Grayza. To anyone.

"They said that they wanted to talk with us - to make a deal." Once again, Riley managed to pack an enormous number of queries into a sentence without a single question mark.

"They do." John had decided that short answers were the best strategy. If Riley wanted more information, he could pony up and actually ask questions.

John took some pleasure in seeing Riley struggle with his response. Finally, his reserve broke. "Can they be trusted?"

Ignoring the implied question about whether _he_ could be trusted, John answered, "They really are here on a diplomatic mission."

"And yet they come armed. There are fighter planes, Prowlers, hovering above our atmosphere," Riley informed him.

John hadn't known about the Prowlers, but it didn't surprise him. "If they wanted to attack you, they would have already," he temporized. John decided that Riley didn't need to know about the base the Peacekeepers were building. For one thing, John himself wasn't supposed to know about the base.

"That's hardly reassuring," Riley observed.

"It wasn't meant to be." John didn't want Earth relaxed.

Riley raised one of his eyebrows again. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that if you treat this like a diplomatic mission and they act like it's a diplomatic mission then maybe it will actually just be a diplomatic mission." At least, John added to himself, until the base got finished or the Peacekeepers managed to bring enough manpower through the wormhole to take what they needed by force.

Riley considered John for a long moment. Finally, he raised a hand and beckoned one of the officers over. A few quick words later and most of the troops melted back towards the base.

Hearing the hiss of the pod doors, John turned around to watch Grayza and her guards descend. Riley was suddenly all smiles. "Vice Chancellor Grayza, I presume," he said while slightly bowing. "I am George Riley, Special Advisor to the President of the United States of America, Leader of the Free World. This is a situation still unfamiliar to us. I apologize if our preparations have made you uncomfortable."

Grayza stretched her mouth into an expression that only looked like a smile to those that didn't know her. "Of course," she nodded. "I perfectly understand taking precautions. It is customary in your world to greet people by shaking hands, yes?"

Riley took her offered hand. "You know something of our customs."

"And I look forward to learning more," she replied while tilting her chin down demurely.

John felt queasy as he watched Grayza rub her thumb over Riley's captured hand.

"The rest of our delegation remains in space as agreed. I would like to transfer the rest down to the planet as soon as is convenient." Coming from Grayza, it was less of a request and more of a demand.

"Of course, Vice Chancellor," Riley readily agreed. "We have accommodations already set up for you. We can take you and your guard there now." Riley, John noticed, was still holding Grayza's hand.

"Excellent," she said as she released him. John watched as Riley shook his head a bit to clear it – he knew the feeling.

"There's someone still aboard the pod, sir!" one of the soldiers cried out. He had been maneuvering closer to the pod while Grayza spoke with Riley and was now peering in the doors.

Riley narrowed his eyes at Grayza in sudden suspicion.

"No!" John shouted as all the soldiers tensed to draw their weapons. "That's my wife and child in there."

Riley, raising both eyebrows, turned to look at him.

"Aeryn," John called towards the pod. "Come out slowly and bring D'Argo with you. They're not a threat," he said to Riley.

Aeryn stepped out with D'Argo tucked onto her hip with one arm and the other hovering above her pulse pistol. Sweeping her cool gaze across the remaining soldiers, both human and Peacekeeper, she locked eyes with John. He could read the question in them as easily as if she had spoken. Was this the Earth that would imprison them? Or embrace them?

Brushing her fingers lightly across Riley's hand again, Grayza explained, "He insisted on bringing his family." Don't blame me, John mentally translated. But Grayza's intervention served to relax Riley once more. John didn't like feeling grateful.

"I see," Riley mused as Aeryn walked over to join them. D'Argo, his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth, was staring around at everything with wide blue eyes.

"It is good to see you, George Riley," Aeryn said in her slow careful English. John felt vaguely envious of her apparently better memory.

"Officer Sun," Riley nodded. John noticed that he was careful not to look at D'Argo. "Welcome to Earth." Riley met each of their eyes in turn, including all of them in the greeting. John thought that he might even be sincere.

"Now then," John interrupted. "I'd like to talk to my father."


End file.
